


Love, Life, and Liberty

by BlossomsintheMist



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Fluff, Happy, M/M, Mark of the Assassin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-18
Updated: 2012-05-18
Packaged: 2017-11-05 13:52:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/407178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlossomsintheMist/pseuds/BlossomsintheMist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's nice to be out of Kirkwall for a while.  Anders and Hawke share a brief moment during Mark of the Assassin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love, Life, and Liberty

The air in the Vimmark Mountains was bright and clear and bracing, the trees dark against a clear blue sky, the vibrant green of the grass studded with blue and white flowers, the sunlight warm on his skin.  It was nice to get out of Kirkwall for a change, and even if he’d never even imagined attended an Orlesian country party of all things, he’d found himself enjoying it, ludicrous as it was, so far.   Hawke certainly seemed to be enjoying himself immensely poking fun at the Duke and living up to his reputation as the eccentric, roguish, heroically dashing Champion of Kirkwall—Anders wasn’t sure if he was living up to his reputation or down to it or both, but it was certainly quite the performance to watch.

Lately things had been harder than ever.  He felt like the harder he fought, the more things slipped away from him.  The mage underground was falling to pieces, no matter how hard he tried to shore it up, and he couldn’t help wondering if it were his fault, if his preoccupation with his love for Hawke had led him to ignore the others when he could have been fighting for them, protecting them, a sense of guilt that settled, sick and uneasy and cold, in the pit of his stomach and wouldn’t go away.  Things were only getting worse in the city; Meredith’s templars were everywhere, and he felt a pounding need to do something, _anything_ , in the back of his head, in time with the beating of his heart, whenever he looked at them.  It was becoming harder and harder to see any light, any hope, no matter where he looked, even when it was into Hawke’s warm gaze and loving eyes.  It felt as if there was a weight on his shoulders, wearing him down, and he was bound to collapse under it sooner or later.

But somehow it was easier to let that weight slip off his shoulders up here, to simply look up into the blue sky and breathe the clear mountain air and look over at Hawke’s brilliant grin and smile back, to poke fun at their hosts and enjoy the grass and flowers under his feet, the warmth of the sun and the adventure he was caught up in, ridiculous as it seemed, with the man he loved.  This was the sort of thing he’d imagined getting up to when he’d run away from the Circle again and again, this sense of freedom, the sun on his face and the wind in his hair, the easing joking and companionship with people he trusted not to turn him in.  It reminded him of his escapades with Bann Ferrenly, honestly, except that having Hawke and Bethany and Varric about was something he’d never really imagined—companions, like he thought he’d found for a while back in Vigil’s Keep, friends he could trust not to turn him in.  The nobles seemed to take to Hawke, and so far few of them had so much as noticed Anders, but that was perfectly all right with him.  Watching Hawke charm the pants off of a bunch of prissy Orlesians while laughing at them (and rolling his eyes over his shoulder at Anders while they weren’t looking) was fun to watch, despite the twinge of jealousy Anders couldn’t help but feel whenever Tallis gave Hawke another appraising look.  He knew it was stupid, but he just couldn’t help the way his chest tightened and heat scoured the back of his throat. He tried to ignore it and focus on air that smelled like mountain wind and pines and sunlight rather than chokedamp and sewage and the soft grass under his feet, Hawke’s grins and jokes and antics, and the way Hawke’s gaze still lingered on him, how he kept reaching out to take Anders’ hand, completely unnecessarily, and their fingers lingered together, intertwined.  He felt foolish at the way his heart still leapt up into his throat and his cheeks flushed, even after all this time, the warmth that blossomed in his chest and settled into his stomach, but he wouldn’t have wished it away for anything.

Bethany and Varric were standing with Tallis off to one side of the clearing and talking about the mating habits of wyverns.  Hawke glanced at them, a considering look on his face, then looked over at Anders and raised his eyebrows.  Anders was about to ask what the other man was thinking about when Hawke grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him off into a small grove of trees.  The smell of mossy bark and pine needles, grass and flowers, was strong and green around them.  Anders raised his eyebrows at Hawke but followed without protest until they were shielded from view of the others by the trees.

“What’s this about?” he asked, but he didn’t protest as Hawke put both hands on his waist and pulled him close, smiling back at Hawke’s grin.  “Aren’t we busily hunting the biggest wyvern in the land to satisfy Duke Prosper’s preoccupation with size?”

Hawke snorted a laugh.  “That’s one way to put it,” he said.  “I just wanted to get you alone for a minute, that’s all.”  He curled one hand around Anders’ side, and Anders could feel the solidity and warmth of his hand even through the heavy cloth of his coat.  He shook his head at Hawke at that answer.

“The others will notice we’re gone in a moment,” he said, but he couldn’t deny the flush of pleasure that answer had brought him, the way it made the stupid romantic side he’d thought died with a younger man glow inside him, his heart flutter and jump.

“A moment is long enough,” Hawke said with a fond smile.  He reached up with one hand to brush his fingers against Anders’ cheek, settle his palm against his jaw and stroke his thumb there.  “The setting is awfully romantic, after all, don’t you think?  Insane nobles, soaring mountains, a fantastic adventure …”

“Are you trying to proposition me, Garrett Hawke?” Anders asked teasingly.  He reached up and rested his hands on Hawke’s shoulders, let them settle against the skin of his neck, stroking his fingers through tousled dark hair that was warm with sun against his fingers.

“Only for a kiss,” Hawke said, grinning, and Anders grinned back.

“That, I _suppose_ I can provide,” he said.

Hawke’s smile widened and edged lopsided, softening.  “I like seeing that smile on your face,” he said.  “What’s got you so bright-eyed and cheerful today?”

“You know,” Anders said lightly, playing it off.  “It’s the little things.  The sun on my face, the wind in my hair.”  He curled one hand around the back of Hawke’s neck and let his voice drop a bit lower, running his thumb over the soft, curling hair just above his nape.  “The fact that I’m on a ridiculous adventure with the person I love most in the world.”

“Love, life, and liberty?” Hawke asked, his smile very crooked and very soft now, his cheeks flushed lightly beneath the color from wind and sun.

“What more does a man need?” Anders replied, and tilted his head as he leaned forward to press their lips together.  For once it was easy to think of nothing but the way they fit together, the way the wind ruffled his hair, the warm steadiness of Hawke’s hand on his back, and Hawke’s kiss tasted of freedom and love as he closed his eyes.  He was still smiling when Hawke’s lips touched his.


End file.
